"matty" poems
Anonymous English Folk Song.
A holiday, a holiday
And the first one of the year
Lord Donald's wife came into the church
The Gospel for to hear
And when the meeting it was done
She cast her eyes about
And there she saw little Matty Groves
Walking in the crowd
"Come home with me, little Matty Groves
Come home with me tonight
Come home with me, little Matty Groves
And sleep with me 'til light"
"Oh, I can't come home, I won't come home
And sleep with you tonight
By the rings on your fingers
I can tell you are Lord Donald's wife"
"But if I am Lord Donald's wife
Lord Donald's not at home
He is out in the far cornfields
Bringing the yearlings home"
And a servant who was standing by
And hearing what was said
He swore Lord Donald he would know
Before the sun would set
And in his hurry to carry the news
He bent his breast and ran
And when he came to the broad mill stream
He took off his shoes and swam
Little Matty Groves, he lay down
And took a little sleep
When he awoke, Lord Donald
Was standing at his feet
Saying, "How do you like my feather bed
And how do you like my sheets
How do you like my lady
Who lies in your arms asleep?"
"Oh, well I like your feather bed
And well I like your sheets
But better I like your lady gay
Who lies in my arms asleep"
"Well, get up, get up", Lord Donald cried
"Get up as quick as you can
It'll never be said in fair England
I slew a naked man"
"Oh, I can't get up, I won't get up
I can't get up for my life
For you have two long beaten swords
And I got a pocket knife"
"Well, it's true I have two beaten swords
And they cost me deep in the purse
But you will have the better of them
And I will have the worse"
"And you will strike the very first blow
And strike it like a man
I will strike the very next blow
And I'll **** you if I can"
So Matty struck the very first blow
And he hurt Lord Donald sore
Lord Donald struck the very next blow
And Matty struck no more
And then Lord Donald he took his wife
And he sat her on his knee
Saying, "Who do you like the best of us
Matty Groves or me?"
And then up spoke his own dear wife
Never heard to speak so free
"I'd rather a kiss from dead Matty's lips
Than you or your finery"
Lord Donald, he jumped up
And loudly he did bawl
He struck his wife right through the heart
And pinned her against the wall
"A grave, a grave, " Lord Donald cried
"To put these lovers in
But bury my lady at the top
For she was of noble kin"
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
******* in a car,
Screaming Matty’s lyrics,
An angel placed before me,
With a voice not meant for the ears
Of mere mortals like myself,
The chocolate ocean of her glistening eyes,
Swallow me whole in a Marinas gaze,
But for once I can reach the floor,
Able to stay afloat and no longer
Battered by titanic waves of chaos,
The sweet glow she resonates
Illuminating every dark corner of
My mind,
Once an inescapable void,
Now filled with the fruitful warmth of love,
For the person who surely came from above.
Before me stands a towering figure
One that is doubtlessly divine,
Her shadow consumes me,
But it’s warmth is surely a sign,
That she is the one that all the hurt was for,
And how I just want her to be mine,
A single tear seeps from my eye,
Graced by your beauty,
Unable to make a sound
Out of my corrupt lungs,
Speechless until I force the words out,
“You really are the one, aren’t you?”
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
We stand side by side
on the corner of
the road.
I watch you smoke
your cigarette-- you
**** in and blow.
It begins to rain; I
check the time on
my phone,
And I say to you,
"Matty, I want to go home."
You ask, "Why, babe? Did I
make you upset?"
I reply, "No, but I am
getting wet."
You give me a smile,
take off and hand me
your jacket.
"Matty, don't you need this?"
"Nah, baby. Have it."
So we stand side by side
at the end of the
street,
With my head on your shoulder
and your arm
around me.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
That’s my old chair
The one I used to doze in
While Mr Parker droned on ‘bout maths & that
I was gonna sit down front near Kerry Keener
But in the end I thought, nah, better not, so here I sat
You see, just here, my keychain scraped the plastic
As I ragged around to try & find a comfy spot
& that bit there got scuffed
The more my trainers rubbed it
I never could sit sensible
So they said
That armrest there snapped clean off when Matty Parker
Went arsefirst backward over it, farting on,
We laughed our backs off that time, Matty too like
It’s a few years now that Matt’s been dead & gone
& round the back there
Do you clock the “I heart Lisa”
Jason compass-scrawled once before class, the cheeky ****
He knew I had a soft spot for that Lisa
I made ****** sure that Jase was out of luck
I haven’t seen that Lisa in a fair while
Jason neither like, funny how life goes
Still, you close one door, another waits ajar like
Sit still too long you won’t go far like, I suppose
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 8:03 PM UTC
12 AM silent tears, matty hair, wet cheeks, exhausted sockets
1 AM runny nose, hushed sobs, escaping eyelashes
2 AM car horns, brisk winds, rising goose flesh
3 AM screams, pain, quiet
4 AM unsteady breathing, ripping apart of pearl necklaces
5 AM cocking of a pistol's safety
6 AM whiskey breath, ***** tongue, an empty orange juice carton
7 AM chattering of neighbors and schoolchildren
8 AM shouts of husbands and wives briefly forgetting how to love each other
9 AM ringing of flower shop cashiers, whistling of tea kettles
10 AM guilt, ample remorse for the undead
11 AM business lunches, speedy dates, short ***** to pass the time
12 PM recollections of a first kiss in Central Park, replay of 12 hours ago
1 PM promises to meet for dinner someday, hair salon gossip
2 PM chiming of church bells, unanswered prayers to invisible gods who doubt your purity
3 PM catcalls, ignored pleas of attention
4 PM passing of verdicts, granting freedom
5 PM wasted apologies, divorce papers being signed
6 PM an old woman's sheets ruffling for a final time, descendance of the sun
7 PM lighting of street lamps, laughter over pizza, beers and a dining room table
8 PM locked doors, readings of bed-time stories
9 PM whispers of "I love you", murmurs of "I'm sorry", snores of a newborn
10 PM breaking bottles, crashing glass, foggy windows, smoky glances
11 PM blood stained clothes, yells of fear,
the sounds of a lonely girl running into a busy city street
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
"buy him a dog, shut him up"
Will a Malamute make Matty mute?
**** no
he'll write a tell-all with Brad Renfro
burn bridges and **** kin-folk
say, **** all y'all, then"
spread violence with silence
breathing through eyelids
going off on tirades inside his head
he's a little out there
but don't despair
he wears clean underwear
opens doors for strangers
dismisses all dangers
talks **** to gang bangers
so, **** You and your 84 IQ
and know this much is true:
you don't have a clue 'bout the distance 'tween he and you
buy him a dog
shut him up
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC
While meditating earlier today,
a flashback leapt
clear for me to assay,
those ever receding
early boyhood daze,
now subsumed within fifty,
plus nine shades of gray
blissfully innocent naivety,
(though blessed) no way
would, aye desire to turn back
the hands of father time (hypothetically),
where unstructured play
regularly with older sister
(thirteen plus months
my senior) predominantly
slicing, sliding, and slipping
stockinged feet skittering
across slippery basement floor,
this then soul full
skinny thing bellowed hooray.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I'm Matty Mattel; I got hurt;
Can you go out?"
Those words uttered
by the very first
pull-string talking doll
Mattel did tout
circa nineteen sixty
revolutionizing the birth
of quasi simulated (lifelike) toys,
and made of common
materials found scout
ting around the house simply comprising
hard vinyl (i.e. pseudo
plaster of Paris) head he did flout
with remaining body
stuffed with padding,
a definite no
no (chew toy) when Fido about.
Actually that pooch,
would be Georgie to you,
(a hybrid Boxer Dalmatian)
with docked tail
my young parents acquired,
when as a newborn,
aye did inconsolably wail
though recollection of such memory
fifty nine years ago tis of no avail
yet, a resumption of meditation,
sans lightness of being
(analogous trancelike state),
that doth prevail
replaying silent film preceding,
when psyche seem so frail
plummeting into emotional abyss
the nadir i.e. anorexia nervosa
pleading return to nostalgic boyhood
decrying change hide didst bewail!
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
On my way
to the shop
across the road
down the concrete stairs
of the flats
I saw Ingrid
sitting on a step
a floor down
from mine
what you
doing here?
I asked
I dropped
a pink of milk
on the way back
from the shop
and now
my dad'll **** me
I daren't go home
I looked at her
sitting there
old grey dress
matty hair
well you can't
sit here all day
your mum
will wonder
where you are
she looked at me
wide eyed
I know
but I can't
go home
until he's gone
to work or I’m for it
how long ago
did you drop it?
15 minutes or so
down by the slope
I thought
of the broken glass
and messy milk
wait here
I’ll talk
with my mum
so I went back
upstairs to our flat
and spoke to Mum
and she gave me
an extra bit of money
to get another
bottle of milk
so I went down
the stairs
and said
come on
let's get
another bottle
how?
she asked
my mum
gave me
some money
to get another
but be careful
this time
she smiled
her goofy smile
and we went down
the stairs and out
through the Square
and down the slope
to the shop
passed
the broken bottle
and spilt milk
and the morning sun
was coming over
the factory
beside the fresh fish shop
and we got
my mother's shopping
and another pint
and never spilt a drop.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 1:37 AM UTC
-in honor of Matthew Hennigan, Vinson Adkinson and everyone else who gave the ultimate sacrifice for their brothers and sisters in arms, you are missed every day
Oh, sweet empty mountain
in your quiet majesty,
Overwatching flowing rivers
meandering through a hushed valley,
And the sparsely growing forest
littered with ruins of times forgot,
In this silent, flowing landscape
for which many nations have fought
Oh, the things you've seen oh mountain,
from triumph to betrayal
To lovers' first awkward kiss,
and children battling so playful
And in waves, you saw it change,
one year peace, the next year tense
You have witnessed arc of all mankind,
each and every sad offense
You witnessed the day when they sat
upon your steep marble mountainside,
Wrapped in ratty tan blankets,
whose purpose was to let them hide
And fingers lay on naked triggers,
muzzles pointed to the road
Cloaked men carried bandoliers,
so their gunners needn't reload
And in the early dawn of light,
the first 'crack' echoed off your side
As a battlefield erupted,
the roaring of a violent fight
Oh, you ancient hunk of rock,
overseeing all as many died
In the distance could you hear,
the faint sound as we all cried?
Rest in peace you glorious ********
I love you Matty and Vinny
I'll see you again one day
Feb 26, 2020
Feb 26, 2020 at 7:46 AM UTC
Matty whispered in my ear
that winter’s hit made him blithe.
Maybe it was because
the bleak land outside
paralleled his blatant solemn;
or maybe it was because
the crisp winds could
freeze his tears
before they could fall.
But the winter was when he fell ill,
except his throat wasn’t sore
and his nose didn’t run.
His mind took off instead,
and he left me feeling like winter.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC